As the Leaves of Lorien Fall
by Icheb-lover
Summary: In Lorien, Galadriel helps Legolas and Gimli find their relationship by telling them of Celebrimbor and Narvi...
1. Chapter 1

As the Leaves of Lorien Fall  
  
Pairing: Legolas/Gimli, Celebrimbor/Narvi  
  
Rating: PG  
  
Warning: As can be deduced from pairings, above, this fic contains slash! If you do not like, do not read. If you haven't read it, do not flame (This may seem redundant, but one of my previous slash fics got a flame about slash pairings, in which he/she admitted to not having read the fic!)  
  
Disclaimer: Tolkien, of course, owns all characters (except OC's and there are very few of those so far. He owns all settings, chronology, etc. I am just playing in his universe, for no money; please don't sue me!  
  
A/N: I may be taking some liberties with the chronology of the Second Age, but not on purpose. I haven't read the Silmarillion, but am basing the Celebrimbor/Narvi story line on some of the entries in Daniel Day's "A Guide to Tolkien". The C/N part is set around the year 800 of the Second Age; Celebrimbor has been trading with the dwarves of Khazad-dum for around fifty years....  
  
As The Leaves of Lorien Fall  
  
Legolas watched as the moonlight gleamed on the silver trunks of the mallorn trees, but he felt far from peaceful, even in fair Lothlorien. The last few days had left him lost and confused. Mithrandir had fallen in Moria, fallen in the Black Pit, an event that, despite Aragorn's warning at the feet of Caradhras, he had never expected to happen. Mithrandir had seemed all powerful: he came and went according to some higher plan, but was always there when they had need of him. Now, suddenly, he was gone, leaving them like the autumn leaves, to be blown about by the wind. Legolas felt as if all that he had thought strong had vanished, as if the very ground he walked upon had turned to mud, and he had been buried alive beneath the earth. And he was not a dwarf, he thought to himself, who would enjoy being buried in the earth.  
  
He groaned, for that thought had brought him to the real reason that he was trying to sleep under a mallorn tree, and not in the pavilion that the elves had provided for the Fellowship: the dwarf; or more specifically, his way of thinking and looking at the dwarf that had recently become so much more complicated.  
  
Legolas was nearly three thousand years old, and for all those years he had looked on dwarves in the same way: distrust, mixed with irritation and dislike. He certainly did not hate dwarves, hate was reserved for Orcs and Goblins and other evil creatures. But he did not trust them: they had stirred up great evil with their greed. The dwarves of Moria had wrought their own downfall, and the fall of the good elves of Hollin, by digging too greedily for treasure, and had woken the Balrog. And Gimli's cousin Balin had done it again, and had destroyed not only the ill-fated colony, but Mithrandir as well. No, he had always believed, it was best not to trust dwarves.  
  
Even on the quest he had not entirely trusted Gimli; he was too full of pride, and constantly blamed the elves for things that everyone knew were the fault of the dwarves. And Legolas had heard the pride in his voice when he spoke of the riches that Moria had once contained; gold and jewels and mithril. He was a typical dwarf, he had decided, and gave the matter no more thought.  
  
Or so he had believed. This night, Galadriel had shorn that belief from him. She had tested him, as she had tested all the Fellowship, and with her mind she had shown him his folly. He had walked confident into her test, believing that her offers would have no effect on him; he had no desire for the Ring, or anything made with it. She had shown him himself as king of Mirkwood, and it held no temptation for him; he did not desire power over others, she showed him Mirkwood made beautiful again, Greenwood the Great once more, as it had been in his Grandfather's time; and he knew that beauty bought with treachery was not true beauty, just a different sort of ugliness. Then she showed him his own mind, his own thoughts. She showed him every touch, every word spoken, every argument he had had with Gimli, from where he had hidden them in his mind. She showed him the dreams which his waking mind had forgotten: himself wrapped in strong dwarvish arms, the feel of calloused skin on his own; of walking together in caves and in forest, of sailing together across the sea. And She said, all this is yours, if you but take the Ring; if you but turn aside on your quest, you will have him in your arms, the first elf to love a dwarf for an age of this world...  
  
And that thought, the image that should of horrified him, proved the hardest to turn away; the desire that he had not known he possessed. But Gimli valued honour and faithfulness above all things, he would not love one who had forsaken their pledge, betrayed another's confidence. So he spurned the vision, though the effort seemed to cost him all that he had, every ounce of strength that he possessed. Then she was gone from his mind, and he was empty, and alone, with only the haunting memory of those images, gone forever.  
  
He had been stripped of his shield of prejudice just as Gimli prepared to shatter yet another of his preconceptions. In his beautiful and loving words to Galadriel, Legolas had found himself humbled. Where before he had held to his beliefs concerning the simplicity of the dwarves; he now found himself in awe before Gimli's skill with language, and he wished that they were directed at him.  
  
Legolas shivered, though not with cold. His world seemed so unsure. Now that he knew that he loved Gimli, what should he do about that knowledge? Gimli had made it clear that he distrusted elves, but then, he had spoken to Galadriel of friendship between the wood and the mountain. Legolas did not think such a thing had ever happened before, an elf, loving a dwarf...  
  
As if in answer to his thought, Legolas saw Galadriel gliding towards him, weaving her way among the mallorn. She stopped a little way from Legolas, and signaled that he was to follow her. He rose, and soon they were moving quickly and silently through the trees. Within minutes, or so it seemed, time worked strangely in Lothlorien, they had come to a small clearing, in the middle of which was a basin on a stone pedestal. Galadriel filled the basin with water, then, standing back, spoke clearly:  
  
"This is the mirror of Galadriel, and within it you can see the past, son of Thranduil. You wondered as to whether an elf had ever loved a dwarf. Such a thing has happened, but not for an age. Look in the mirror, if you wish to learn of that love, and perhaps, learn something that will help you."  
  
Legolas looked at the basin in amazement, wondering how water could show anything, especially the past. When he turned to ask her, however, she had gone... 


	2. Chapter 2

As the Leaves of Lorien Fall, Chapter 2  
  
Legolas looked around the clearing, trying to see where Galadriel had gone, and, seeing that he was alone with the basin and the moonlight. He stepped carefully up to the basin, and looked inside. At first he saw only stars, and his own reflection, but then, the image, far away, but incredibly clear, of a stone chamber, a great hall. Legolas recognized it as the hall where they had spent their last night in Moria. But it was not dark and foul. In the image it was as it had been in Gimli's song, full of light, with great works of gold all around; the throne on which the Dwarf-king sat was magnificently carved, and gleaming with reflected light. There were many dwarfs gathered around the King, all dressed in resplendent robes, and an elven lord was seated in front of the King and seemed to be discussing some important matter. This then, must be Moria, back when it was Khazad- dum, back when Durin was king under the Mountain.  
  
Even as Legolas realized what he was watching, he found that he could hear what they were saying...  
  
Celebrimbor, the Elf-Lord of the kingdom of Hollin, sat quietly as he listened to the Dwarves endlessly debate the details of the treaty, the same details he had thought they had ironed out the week before, and only the composition that comes from several thousand years of life saved him from displaying his annoyance. Anyone who had ever accused Elves of talking too much, he thought bitterly, had never spent time with dwarven bureaucrats when there was treasure at stake.  
  
The two kingdoms had done a great deal of trade together in the past, as the elven-smiths made great use of the mithril that the dwarves found in their mines. It was still a rather tenuous relationship, as the distrust and hatred that Thingol had aroused between the two races with his greed had still not abated. Celebrimor hoped that by making a full treaty with the dwarves of Khazad-dum, rather than merely an economic one, he could help to repair that relationship. He hoped that an alliance between the two cities of artisans would promote a friendship between the species, which was why he did not let his irritation show on his face.  
  
King Durin and his diplomats had finally agreed to a cooperative program for apprentice stone and metal masons that Celebrimbor had pushed for, hoping to promote greater understanding; and the talk turned to the matter of the West Gate. It was still rather rough and unimpressive, but Celebrimbor hoped that it could become a symbol of the friendship between the two kingdoms.  
  
"Your majesty," Celebrimbor broke into the argument that had just broke out over what sort of stone would be best to use in building a new gate, "I would propose a joint venture for building this gate, that it truly be representative of both our kingdoms. It would, of course, be constructed according to traditional dwarven practice, but incorporate elven elements. With your permission, I would like the greatest of my silver-smiths to work with the greatest of your stone-masons, and, with their cooperation, the doors of Khazad-dum will be the wonder of the lands East of the Sea."  
  
King Durin stroked his beard, as his councilors protested allowing an elf to be witness to their ancient practices. Finally, sticking his thumbs inside his gold and jeweled belt, said loudly,  
  
"Enough of this arguing about details! We know that we can trust the elves of Hollin, or we wouldn't have considered this treaty in the first place. It shall be as proposed; I'm sick of all these endless meetings, and I'm sure that Lord Celebrimbor is as well. GrÏin, inform Narvi that he is to meet with the elven silver-smith tomorrow to begin work on the gate. Oh, and tell the kitchens to begin work on a feast, we need to celebrate this treaty properly!"  
  
The king, after watching his advisors scatter, like leaves tossed by a sudden wind, turned to Celebrimbor with a smile, and suggested that he send for his silver-smith, and have him attend the feast that night, "it will give him a chance to meet Narvi, after all, they should be working close together! Now, who is your best silver-smith?"  
  
Celebrimbor smiled, and said politely, that he would be working on the West Gate himself, as he had been trained in metal work by Aulë himself in Valinor.  
  
"Indeed," boomed the dwarf king, "then let us hope that you like Narvi, then!" And he took Celebrimbor by the arm, and led him from the chamber.  
  
So that was the origin of the great doors we saw at the West Gate, Legolas thought to himself, as the surface suddenly went dark and showed only stars once more. I don't see how it helps my situation any, though, he thought, unless Celebrimbor had an affair with Durin...But then he noticed that another image had begun to appear in the basin... 


	3. Chapter 3

As the Leaves of Lorien Fall, Chapter 3  
  
The mirror was now showing Legolas another chamber in Khazad-dum; brightly lit, its windows opened to the west, and the setting sun was shining in over the tops of the neighbouring mountains. There were many long tables set around this room, and dwarven musicians were positioned around the hall. At the top of the dais, Durin and Celebrimbor were seated with many of the dwarven diplomats that Legolas had seen in the earlier image. Legolas could hear the beautiful music of the harps and viols, flutes and clarinets, floating above the hum of many voices. Then he saw the dwarf that King Durin had identified as Gróin enter the hall, leading another dwarf toward the dais...  
  
Celebrimbor was listening half-heartedly to the ramblings of the dwarf beside him, (Gori, was his name?), as the dwarf went on and on about the tolls that Gondor, the new human kingdom in the south were charging for the use of their port on the Anduin. He tried to distract his mind from the dwarfs diatribe by scanning the faces of the dwarves in the crowd, trying to guess which one was Narvi, the dwarf that he would be working with. So far he had not seen any dwarf who looked like he might be named Narvi, but then, it was hard to tell with dwarves, their names so seldom had anything to do with their appearance.  
  
"Its sheer robbery, that's what it is. They know they have us up the barrel, they're the only port closer than Belfalas, and they know it. Smug humans, think they can charge anything and get away with it, just because they come from Numenor! It isn't even all that great of a port, really, just some ledges on both sides of the city, but you'd think it was marvelous at the prices they charge..."  
  
Celebrimbor tuned Gori out again, as he noticed that Gróin was leading another dwarf into the hall, was leading him up to the dais. Celebrimbor found that he had to remind himself to breathe; for this was the most beautiful dwarf he had ever seen. He had never before thought of a dwarf as beautiful, they were not a beautiful people, but this dwarf was. He was squat and compact, like others of his species, but it seemed to Celebrimbor to be the strength of an ancient oak tree, sturdy and steadfast, something to last the ages. His beard shone in the light of the lamps, and his dark eyes gleamed with a black fire that burned into Celebrimbor's soul. He found himself hoping that this was Narvi.  
  
He was. Soon Gróin and the dwarf had reached the table, and, as a servant fetched a chair for the new dwarf, to be put between Celebrimbor and Gori, the dwarf bowed low, and, in a voice like a finely played cello, said, "Narvi at your service." Celebrimbor thought that the simple greeting was more elegant than all the elvish greetings he had ever heard.  
  
He rose from the table, and bowed in return. "Celebrimbor at yours and your families", he said politely, glad that he remembered the correct phrase. King Durin seemed to have sensed the awkwardness behind Celebrimbor's polite words, because he stopped talking to the dwarf on his left, and boomed out,  
  
"Celebrimbor, I see you've met our Narvi! Come here, lad, and sit beside the elf. You two are going to be working together on the West Gate, so you'd better get to know each other now!"  
  
Narvi was soon sitting beside Celebrimbor, and, once the awkwardness had passed, he found it very easy to speak with the dwarf. He had found someone who truly understood the language of the forge and chisel, and the intricacies of the work. Here at last was a fellow artisan, not a bureaucrat complaining about high tolls and the costs of importing materials. He found that Narvi shared his vision for the West Gate, and they began planning it out that very night.  
  
"I thought," Narvi said, excitedly, "That we could have two holly trees on either side of the Gate. They are the symbol of your kingdom, I believe. And it is traditional to have columns beside dwarf gates, but trees would serve better in this case."  
  
"And we could have the anvil of Durin on the door..."  
  
"And the tree of the High Elves, the writing would be in Elvish, of course."  
  
By now the hall had begun to empty, and most of the dwarves had gone. The moonlight was beginning to show in the windows; it must be very late. After King Durin had risen, Narvi offered to walk Celebrimbor back to his chambers, and they left the hall together, still talking excitedly about their plans for the future, and the friendship of their peoples.  
  
Again, the water in the mirror faded, and Legolas found himself looking at stars once more. He had begun to understand why Galadriel had shown him this image, Celebrimbor had fallen in love with one of the dwarves of Moria, just as he had fallen for Gimli. But there seemed no hope for either of them, for the Balrog had come to Moria, and the distrust still tore elves and dwarves apart. But the colours were swirling in the basin once more, and Legolas gazed into it, anxious to learn the rest of the story... 


	4. Chapter 4

As the Leaves of Lorien Fall, Chapter 4  
  
The sun was dappling the white walls of the pavilion as Gimli leafed through the record of the colony of Moria, trying to decipher the broken and stained letters. His kin seemed to have had several good years, but the hopeful entries seemed terribly ominous now that he knew the fate of the colony. The entries, written in Ori's quick elven script, chronicled the early days of the colony, until its tragic end. His heart felt heavy once more, remembering his kin as they set out for Moria, nearly thirty years ago. He had thought many times in the years since that they were likely dead; but finally knowing it made the sorrow seem so much more real. He regretted that they had not had time to bury his kin; that they had not been able to bury Gandalf in a manner fitting to one so mighty, to one whom the dwarves of Erebor owed so much.  
  
He hunched over the book, his shoulders bowed in grief. He thought of Oin, his uncle, and of the times they had spent together, when Gimli was a child in the Iron Hills. He thought of his cousin Balin, and his father's friend Ori; but most of all, he thought of Gandalf. Of the Wizard's visits to them, deep in the mountains, of his arrival at the Battle of Five Armies, of his words at Thorin's funeral, and Dain's coronation. Mostly, he thought of the wizard's quick temper, and his skill with smoke rings, his hearty laugh, and encouraging words. From the back of his mind, he heard Gandalf's words at Moria's West Gate: "But I beg you two, Legolas and Gimli, at least to be friends, and to help me. I need you both."  
  
How could he be friends with the elf? He was stubborn, and prideful, and arrogant, and he put the blame on the dwarves for the fall of Khazad-dum, and the fading of Laurelindorenan. He was constantly showing off; seeing and hearing things that others couldn't, walking on top of snow, as if to mock them for not being Firstborn...and he was the son of Thranduil, who had held his father in prison without cause. Dwarves do not easily forgive, and Gandalf was asking much, he had thought then, to ask him to be friends with such a creature as this.  
  
From another corner of his mind, he recalled words his father had spoken to him, as they had sat together in the House of Elrond, in the days following the Council, after Gimli had been chosen to accompany Frodo. His father had spoken of his own journeys with Bilbo, of how he had found his first impressions to be very wrong indeed...  
  
"I thought he looked like a grocer, bobbing there on the mat. I couldn't believe that this was the burglar Gandalf had found for us, who he had described as fierce. And early on in the journey, my poor opinion of him seemed to be proved right; he bungled the issue with the trolls, I was nearly eaten! All he ever seemed to talk and thing about was food. But I was proved wrong. Of course, the Ring helped, but even so, he proved himself a staunch ally, and a good friend. Never let your first impressions blind you to someone's true worth, my son. These hobbits may look soft, but they have hearts of gold, and I have never known one to fail his companions in a pinch. You look after them, and they'll look after you..."  
  
"'Never let your first impressions blind you to someone's true worth,'" Gimli repeated quietly. He grimaced. Somehow, he didn't think his father was talking about the Elvenking's son. He thought of his father's anger toward the elves of Mirkwood... but then he thought of Galadriel's kind words. He had looked where he expected to find an enemy, but had found a friend instead, one who knew all the ancient names of his people. They had spoken of the friendship of the mountain and the wood. Perhaps, perhaps, Gandalf's request was not so impossible after all. Perhaps, in Lothlorien, a dwarf and an elf could become friends. After all, the doors of Durin seemed to show that it had happened once before. Gimli traced again in his mind the outline of the beautiful doors, framed between the holly trees, "The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria, Say Friend, and Enter. I, Narvi, made them; Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs." Narvi and Celebrimbor... an elf and a dwarf... together they had made something beautiful, something to last the ages.  
  
He started as a delicate white hand was placed on his shoulder. Galadriel had approached silently while he had been thinking. She was carrying another book, and looking at him so happy and carefree, that he thought she was nearly a different woman than the dignified queen he had met the night before. He felt his face break into a grin, and he quickly rose and bowed low. She laughed, and asked him to sit beside her.  
  
"How do you find my realm, son of Gloin?" she asked merrily. "I admit that you are the first dwarf to have entered it, and I would like to hear your opinion of it. My friend Narvi did not live long to ever see it..."  
  
"Narvi?" Gimli asked, surprised, "wasn't he the dwarf who built the doors of Moria?"  
  
"Yes, he and Celebrimbor built the doors of Khazad-dum, all those ages ago. My lord Celeborn, and my daughter, and I were living in Eregion then, and he was my first dwarven friend."  
  
She paused, and then held out the book to Gimli. "This is his diary. He gave it to me before he died, in the hopes that I would one day give it to one in need of it. It chronicles the first attempt at intimacy between an elf and a dwarf. I think that you might find it interesting, at the very least as an insight into your people's ancient kingdom...But first, shall I show you my realm"  
  
Her face crinkled with laughter as Gimli rose and bowed low. "My lady, I am honoured by your gift. In all the songs of the dwarves, too little is said of the beauty of living things, but I shall write songs of the lady Galadriel and of the Realm of Lothlorien, for they are more fair than all the jewels beneath the earth."  
  
"Then come, my good dwarf, and see more of it..." And she took his hand, and they walked among the mallorn.  
  
Legolas sat back in the glade. The sun had risen over the tops of the trees; it was now mid-morning. He had watched the mirror for most of the night and the next day, and his mind was whirling with what he had seen. Celebrimbor and Narvi had connected immediately, and had become friends so quickly that it left him awe-struck. But they had the work on the West Gate to unite them, he thought cynically. Gimli and I have nothing in common but past hatred and misunderstanding.  
  
That's not true... said another part of his brain... you have the Quest, and memories of and grief for Mithrandir, and you have the love of these woods, and of the Lady Galadriel... that is surely enough to make a start, if you are willing to take the challenge...  
  
Challenge... that did it. If there was anything Legolas of Mirkwood loved, it was a challenge... he would connect with the dwarf if it killed him... after all, they did have things in common... 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Sorry about the short chapter, this one is really just a segway into the next one. Still, I hope you enjoy!  
  
As the Leaves of Lorien Fall, Chapter 5  
  
The late afternoon sun was pouring into the pavilion by the time Gimli had a chance to look at the new book that Galadriel had given him. He had spent most of the day walking around Caras Galadhon with Galadriel, and, despite being annoyed at the surprised looks that many of the city's residents were shooting them, had thoroughly enjoyed himself. The elf had arrived partway through the afternoon. It seemed strange, it suddenly occurred to him, that he still called Legolas "the elf" as if he were the only one, as if he wasn't in a city full of them; but that was simply how he thought of him, as the elf. He wasn't quite sure what that might mean, and he didn't really want to think about it.  
  
Galadriel had invited the elf to walk with them, and the three of them saw the rest of the city together before she bowed off, having some business to attend to. Gimli had expected the elf to leave again, to flit off with some of his kindred, but he didn't instead he continued to walk with Gimli back to the pavilion, talking of the quest, and of the beauty of Lothlorien. Gimli was rather amazed that they had managed to go all afternoon without a single argument about the elves and the dwarves; Legolas suddenly seemed keen to avoid inflammatory subjects, and Gimli did the same. He was startled to find that, when they weren't fighting, the elf was quite easy to talk to. He knew the geography of Gimli's homeland better than any other member of the fellowship, except perhaps for Aragorn; in fact, he knew the lands around the River Running a lot better than Gimli, having lived there for thousands of years, rather than a mere eighty.  
  
They had had supper with the rest of the Fellowship, which resulted in Gimli having to sit through several more surprised looks from them, having walked into the pavilion laughing and talking with the elf about Rollings, a fat merchant from Esgaroth well-known in the area for his comedic mishaps. There had even been an annoyingly superior, "knowing" look from Aragorn... but what he thought he knew Gimli had no idea. After supper, the hobbits asked Legolas to show them some of the city. Legolas seemed to not want to leave the pavilion and suggested that they ask Aragorn, as he was the one who had been in the city before, but they insisted, Sam even saying, irrelevantly, "... and I'm thinking, Master Legolas, that Master Gimli will be wanting the evening to look at his new books." Silly think for the hobbit to say, really, it wasn't as if the elf wanted to stay at the pavilion for his sake, he was probably just tired from walking all afternoon. But the elf had shot Gimli a very strange look before leaving with the hobbits; one that gave Gimli the confusing feeling that perhaps Sam's thought wasn't quite so silly as he'd thought. Which was silly too: he and Legolas could barely stand each other; the elf did not want to be with him! That fact comfortably settled, Gimli sat down to read Narvi's diary.  
  
The first few entries were very interesting, all about the early construction of Khazad-dum, and the city as it had been under King Durin. It was primarily a journal of his craft, which, since Narvi was the greatest stonemason the city had produced, was stupendous. It didn't have much in the way of information on the political developments of the city: after all, Narvi was a stonemason, not a diplomat. That is, until the treaty with the elves of Hollin. Gimli tried to remember what Aragorn had said about the elves of Hollin; but all he could remember were Gandalf's words outside the Gate, about how the dwarves of Khazad-dum and the Elves of Hollin had been great friends...  
  
It was with these entries that Narvi's construction journal became more of a diary. Where before it had been largely notes on his building projects, now Narvi included his thoughts, and feelings, and impressions, as well as a highly detailed account of events. It was so detailed, in fact, that Gimli felt as if he could see it happening right before his eyes...  
  
Narvi looked up from his work-table as Celebrimbor entered the room. The elf-lord seemed to make the room glow, somehow. He hadn't noticed that the previous night, at the feast, but then, there were so many lights there that an elf-lord's glow might easily be missed. He grinned at his new friend and partner, and took out the drawings that he'd been working on.  
  
"I've incorporated all the details from our talk last night," he informed Celebrimbor, once all the initial pleasantries had been dealt with. He showed the elf-lord his plans, and grinned in delight at the elf's pleased expression. They were going to be beautiful, indeed.  
  
"These are wonderful, Narvi. I was thinking, though, that the designs upon them should be made of ithildin. That is the most beautiful of our tools for metal work. It can only be made in our forges in Ost-in-Edhil, our principal city. It would add greatly to their beauty and power. If you would, when the construction on the doors is complete, you shall come with me, and I will show you my city."  
  
Narvi was quite excited. The dwarves were great craftsmen, and the dwarves of Khazad-dum were the best of the dwarves, but the elves' of Hollin had studied under Mahal, and had developed their skill over centuries. To study with them would be a joy any dwarf should dream of. He bowed low.  
  
"That would be a great honour. Come, let us get started on the building, so that I may see your fair city the sooner!" He reached out to clasp Celebrimbor's arm in friendship, and felt a slight jolt go through him that he did not understand, perhaps it was something strange about elves?, and the two left together to find some workers for their gates...  
  
Gimli quickly turned the pages. No wonder Narvi had given it to Galadriel, instead of leaving the book in the library of Khazad-dum, it contained information on the elves of Hollin as well. Perhaps he would share this book with Lord Elrond, as well. He would find it interesting, or perhaps Legolas... He turned the pages quickly eager to learn more of the story.... 


	6. Chapter 6

As the Leaves of Lorien Fall, Chapter 6

Rating: Pg

Pairings: Legolas/Gimli, Celebrimbor/Narvi

Warning: This Fic contains Slash Pairings – but if you've read this far you already know that!

Disclaimer: All the characters and settings within this fic belong to Tolkien, I'm just playing with them for no profit; no infringement intended.

A/N: Sorry I have taken so long to update – I had two essays and a midterm in the last couple weeks, so I had to focus on those. Ugh. Plus I had writer's block for this story. Thank you Hokori No Ai and Tsuchi who gave me suggestions on how to proceed! They really made this chapter possible – I was really stuck!

Gimli shifted through the next few pages of the text, marveling at how fast Narvi had come to trust Celebrimbor, usually it took dwarves a long time to trust those of others races – it had taken his father months, and having been rescued from several jams, to consider Bilbo a friend, and here was Narvi confiding in Celebrimbor from almost their first meeting. It was strange, too, how often his thoughts seemed to dwell on the elf; he would turn from interesting descriptions of Khazad-dum to describe the first time he had taken Celebrimbor there, or from the most technical description of the work on the great gate to tell of something Celebrimbor had said or done as they were made. They truly were happier days, as Gandalf had said, when there could be close friendship between a dwarf and an elf!

Of course, whispered another part of his mind, you were quick enough to trust Galadriel, and you have always held a high opinion of Elrond. If your father had not been imprisoned in the Elven-king's halls, you would likely have trusted Legolas too, and considered him a friend, as you do the other members of the fellowship. Are you that different from Narvi?

Gimli studiously ignored the little voice- he was quite different from Narvi, he hadn't told Galadriel and Elrond the secret ways of the dwarves, and anyway, they were dwarf-friends, it was alright to trust them! Still, it was remarkable at how quickly and well made the gate was progressing through the union of these two craftsmen. It was nearly finished; in fact, they were going to Hollin to prepare the ithildin for the door...

Narvi emerged from the nearly complete West gate, blinking in the bright sunlight. He saw that Celebrimbor and the elvish delegation were waiting nearby – on horses. His grin, which had emerged in a broad beam at the sight of his handsome friend, disappeared quickly with the sight of the horses. He didn't mind ponies, had ridden several ponies in his lifetime, but horses were another matter. Something that tall – his legs couldn't reach the stirrups! Celebrimbor had approached him, his face crinkling with laughter at the sight of calm Narvi's reaction to horses, and jumping off his horse with an enviable grace, whispered in Narvi's ear, "I thought to bring a pony for you, but I found that we have none in our stables. So I am afraid you will have to share with me. Don't worry, I will not let you fall..." He felt a strange tingle as the Elf-lord clasped his hand...what was it about elves anyway?

Gimli snorted. The thought of a dwarf riding on the same horse as an elf ...the thought of a dwarf riding a horse at all! Really! The entire idea was ridiculous. Narvi was truly doing this, what no dwarf had ever done before, or since. And no dwarf ever would, he thought to himself, riding a horse, really...

Gimli skipped ahead through the next few pages, as Narvi was shown the wonders of the kingdom of Eregion. Perhaps, he thought to himself, he should show Legolas this part of the book; the elf seemed to have some knowledge of the ancient kingdom of Hollin. Still, it wasn't until they reached the city of Ost-in-Edhil, the primary city of Eregion, and the chief jewel in the crown of Celebrimbor's realm...

Narvi felt dazzled by the gleaming light of the city. Ost-in-Edhil represented a high point in Elven Architecture. Narvi wasn't an expert on Elven buildings...this was the first Elven city he'd ever seen, but he knew good stonework when he saw it. The elven city was breathtaking in the glow of the setting sun. The red light reflected the shining white stone, bathing the lands all around it with a warm red light.

Ahead of him, he could hear Celebrimbor's voice calling out, to all of the delegation, " Let us take the main road through the city, we must show our guest famed Elven hospitality." Then, in a voice meant for Narvi alone, the elf-lord whispered "Do not worry, the stables are at the gate – we shall be walking." Narvi said nothing, but gripped his arms more tightly around Celebrimbor's chest. The sooner he got off this demon creature the better....

As they walked through the beautifully carved stonework of the Elven capitol, Narvi and Celebrimbor at the head of the delegation, Narvi noticed that Celebrimbor seemed to be a part of his city – like the buildings, he seemed to have a breathtakingly natural symmetry about him, he couldn't have been born, but grew up out of the earth of Hollin, as natural and as beautiful as the countless holly trees that grew throughout the city...

He shook his head. Where did that thought come from? Beautiful as a holly tree – really he must be spending too much time with Elves.

The feast that evening was splendid. Narvi thought it ranked among one of the nicest he had ever been to, and he had attended some of the best that King Durin had ever thrown. The music seemed to be part of the room, and Narvi, though well acquainted with the sweeping melodies and powerful tunes of Dwarven music, felt that this music seemed to come alive in his veins. While the Dwarven tunes inspired his heart, made him want to get up and travel, to make beautiful things; this music seemed to grow up out of the earth, the haunting melodies twining around the very walls of the hall, curling like ivy up a old oak – what was with him today? Using two nature images within the space of only a few hours?

On the other side of Celebrimbor, Narvi noticed two beautiful Elven women – one with hair like living gold, and eyes like sapphires gleaming in a mine (now there was a proper metaphor), the other so much like her that he was sure she must be her daughter. Celebrimbor had leaned over to the elder of the two, and asked her, in a quiet voice, though not so quietly as to be inaudible to Narvi, where her husband was, and why he had not come to the feast. He was certain that she had glanced over at him, Narvi the dwarf, before politely replying that her lord did not feel up to attending a feast that evening, and was having supper in their rooms.

Narvi could see that this reply did not please Celebrimbor, though there was nothing on the Elf-lord's face that should give him that conclusion. He simply knew Celebrimbor was unhappy at the elven lady's husband's non-attendence of the feast. He did not want to know how he knew this. He returned to his meal, leaving Celebrimbor to converse with the lady and her daughter.

He was disturbed a few moments later, when Celebrimbor placed his flawless hand on Narvi's shoulder. His elf was saying politely, "Narvi, may I introduce my guests, Lady Galadriel and her daughter Celebrian."

So that's who these women were. The younger looked decidedly uncomfortable at this introduction, but the older of the two, the lady Galadriel, he reminded himself, smiled at him. He rose quickly, and, regretting that he had left his hood behind in his rooms, for the bow was so much more impressive with the hood, gave the deep bow of his people, and said, in his most politest tones – he would show that young elf that dwarves were just as worthy to be guests of the elves –

"Narvi, son of Narin at your service". He could see the younger girl had laughter tugging at the corners of her mouth, but her eyes were less cold. The Lady Galadriel, though, giving a smile that could rival any jewel any dwarf had ever mined, bowed in turn, with a silvery "Galadriel of Lindon at yours and your family's."

Taking a cue from her mother, the girl gave a polite little courtesy, and said politely, "Celebrian, daughter of Galadriel, at your service" – which was the wrong reply; still, it was nice that she had made the effort.

After dinner, Celebrian begged their leave to go and sing with some of the younger elves that were settling down in various corners, instruments out and voices at the ready. Narvi found himself wishing he had brought his harp with him on this visit – what would elves think of Dwarvish music? Then Celebrimbor, with one arm held out for Galadriel, led them out of the hall, and into the garden.

It was a beautiful evening, the stars were gleaming, and the clear moon bathed everything in a pale glow. The gardens, nestled as they were among the trees, carried some divine scent. Narvi could almost feel it, he felt awash in pleasures he had never known – Elven stars and Elven flowers, Elven food and Elven music, with Elves at his side.

Soon, they were sitting quietly on a bench, among the roses. Galadriel was telling them a delightful story about life in Lindon – apparently Celebrian, for a prank, decided to steal Gil-Galad's crown, and then had forgotten where she had hid it.

Narvi found himself laughing uproariously at this story – it was wonderful to think of the proud princess he had met doing something so child-like, so spontaneous – something that a dwarf child would do. He loved the way Celebrimbor's laugh mingled with his – and Galadriel's of course – treble bells mingling with a bass – clear notes rising up to the diamond-studded sky.

"You would tell our private moments to a Naugrim, my wife?" A voice cut across their laughter, a steel knife through bread. It was a calm, collected tenor, yet Narvi could sense in it the anger and the threat of an avalanche in the mountains.

"Yes, Husband," was Galadriel's calm reply; as calm as her husband's voice, but laced with a quiet reproach rather than anger. "Narvi is a guest and a friend to one of my oldest friends, and, in the brief time I have known him, I have found him to be worthy of my friendship as well."

Narvi turned now, and saw Galadriel's husband. A tall, handsome elf, with silver hair and eyes, but the eyes were cold, and the voice angry when he looked at Narvi. His eyes narrowed.

"The grandson of Fëanor may befriend a Naugrim, but a princess of Doriath would do well to remember loyalty to her kin"

Doriath! There was the connection! So that was why Galadriel had glanced at him before replying to Celebrimbor's question, that was why Celebrian was uncomfortable in his presence, and why Galadriel's husband detested him so – they were elves of Doriath – the elven city destroyed by the dwarves of Nogrod. But that was eight hundred years earlier – and an entirely different city of dwarves. They had all perished in the elves retaliatory attack, and the city had sunk into the sea, with the rest of Beleriand. Surely this elf wouldn't go so far as to blame him for what other dwarves, long dead had done?

Gimli felt a flash of guilt, echoed back to him in Narvi's words from a previous age. King Thranduil, Legolas' father, had imprisoned Gimli's own father, and his companions, because of the memory of Doriath, distrustful of dwarves in his kingdom. And Thorin, he knew, had refused to tell Thranduil why they were in Mirkwood because of Doriath – he had judged Thranduil because of Thingol's greed.

He himself had condemned Legolas because of his father's actions. Legolas had done nothing to him, other than being a bit superior; had been a true companion. Perhaps, here among the trees of Lothlorien, he would become a friend.

After all, Doriath and Nogrod had fallen into the sea long ago.

While Narvi had been thinking all this, Celebrimbor had risen from the bench, and was now facing off with his guest.

"Lord Celeborn," his elf was saying politely, "I would ask that you treat my guest with the respect due to an emissary of Khazad-dum and to my friend. Neither Narvi nor any of his people played a part in the destruction of your home. The destruction of Doriath, grievous as it was, is hardly the fault of all dwarves."

"I shall never forget the destruction that the greed of the dwarves has stirred. And you too, Celebrimbor, son of Curufin, should remember that – dealings with dwarves bring only loss and despair."

With that warning, Celeborn swept away from the gardens. Silence reigned for a moment in the garden – even the crickets had ceased their orchestration. Then, in one graceful movement, Galadriel rose, and said gently,

"With your pardon, my friends, I shall return to my rooms for this evening. I trust that I shall see you both in the morning." With that she was gone, a gleam of moonlight moving out of the garden.

The moment was completely still; it was almost as if the participants were paintings on the wall, or sculpted from stone. Narvi was still sitting on the bench – unsure what to say in response to Celeborn's words. Celebrimbor was standing not far away, his back to Narvi, his shoulders tense.

Narvi found that concern for his elf was overpowering his anger at Celeborn's words. His elf had been hurt by the words – what did it matter what they said about him? He rose, crossed over to Celebrimbor, and, laying his hand on the elf's arm, said kindly,

"Pay him no mind, my friend, his words were spoken in grief only." Again, there was a strange thrill as his hand touched the elf; what could it mean?

Celebrimbor turned around, and kneeling so that he was face to face with Narvi, held Narvi's hands in his own. The elf's grey eyes gazed searchingly into Narvi's brown ones, not saying anything.

Narvi felt his heart rate increasing under the elf's searching gaze. His mouth was suddenly dry, he wished his friend would say something, anything – he could not ever recall being as aware of someone, as aware of everything around him. Why didn't the elf speak?

Finally, Celebrimbor spoke. "I hope, my friend, that you were not offended by his words. I marvel that you are so understanding. It is grievous that the destruction of Doriath must govern all relations between our peoples."

Almost before he realized what he was doing, Narvi had leaned over and kissed the elf's forehead. He had meant it to be a comforting gesture, but his lips felt on fire. He withdrew quickly.

"Not all relations, my friend." He could hardly bear to look Celebrimbor in the eyes. "I shall turn in now," he finished. "I will see you in the morning – we still have a gate to finish." And turning quickly, he walked back towards the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

As the Leaves of Lorien Fall (7/?)

Rating: raised to PG 13 for implied sexual relations

Pairing(s): Legolas/Gimli; Celebrimbor/Narvi

Warning: This fic contains slash pairings, both of which are interspecies (elf/dwarf). If such things offend or squick you; turn back now.

Disclaimer: Tolkien, not me, owns Lord of the Rings. I am merely borrowing his characters for no profit, and no copyright infringement is intended.

A/N: Thanks for all your reviews! Here is chapter 7. Please note the increase in the rating from PG to PG 13!

Chapter 7

Legolas walked happily among the mallorn, singing cheerfully. He felt more relaxed than he had for several months. He had spent the previous afternoon walking in the woods with Gimli, and then had joined his kin in the evening. It was wonderful to speak Sindarin again, to sing the old songs – but he found his thoughts, even as he sat among his people, went out to Gimli, all alone, grieving for his murdered family, and fallen friend.

He was going now back to the Fellowship's pavilion on the borders of the city. He would be glad to see his friends again, and, especially, to see Gimli. He hoped, and felt that he had reasons for such hope, that the dwarf was beginning to do more than merely tolerate him: several times, when he had asked Gimli to walk with him, the dwarf had seemed quite open to the idea, and he had certainly never refused to walk with Legolas.

As Legolas began to approach the area where the Fellowship pavilion was pitched, he heard the clear, bell-like tones of hobbit laughter. He smiled. He had had some concern about such young, innocent creatures going on the quest, but he could not now imagine the Quest without Pippin's pranks, Merry's tales and Sam's devotion to his master.

The hobbits in question were sitting beside the stream not far from the tent. Merry was chasing Pippin between the mallorn trees – it appeared that Pippin had stolen Merry's apple. Frodo was laughing, and Sam appeared torn between disapproval at Merry and Pippin's behaviour, and pleasure that his master was finally enjoying himself.

"Pip! Give it back, you rotten Took!" Merry suddenly burst around a tree, and stopped abruptly when he saw Legolas, a smile on his round face. "Legolas! How nice to see you! Did you have a nice evening?"

"Legolas!" Legolas suddenly found his waist surrounded by excited Took. "I missed you! I didn't get to see you last night!" Pippin released his hold, and gave a beaming smile – then ran off quickly to escape Merry's renewed attempts to retrieve his apple.

"Master Legolas, would I be right in reckoning that you are here to visit with Master Gimli?" Sam was polite, as always, his tone fully respectful, though half his attention was devoted to trying to convince the Ring-bearer to put on his jacket: "There's an awful draught, Mr. Frodo."

Pippin had run back beside them once more. "Gimli? I don't think you should go into the tent, Legolas. There is a grumpy dwarf in there."

"Beggin' your pardon, Master Pippin, but Master Gimli was only upset because you kept throwing apple cores at his head, and distracting his readin'. Old Mr. Bilbo was just the same when Master Merry used to visit, and clamored for a story while Mr. Bilbo was trying to write his book. Do you remember, Mr. Frodo?"

Frodo smiled, the smile of one completely at peace, lost in the memory of a happy time. "I remember, Sam." He looked over at Legolas, and added: "I think, Legolas, that Gimli would appreciate your company. He seemed disturbed about something." He stood up, and in a louder voice, called out to his cousins, who were now wrestling each other for control of apple. "I think I would like to see that waterfall you two were claiming to have found yesterday. If you will excuse us, Legolas." He gave a small bow, and set off into the woods, closely followed by Sam, with Merry and Pippin running ahead.

Legolas ducked into the tent, and sure enough, there was indeed a grumpy dwarf within. Gimli was sitting on the edge of one of the cots, a frown deeply etched onto his face, the book he had been so obsessed with the last few days perched on his lap. He didn't give any reaction as Legolas crossed over to the cot, and sat, cross-legged, beside him.

"You look concerned, my friend." There was no response. Legolas tried again, "Good friend Gimli, surely this is not a result of Master Peregrin's apple-cores? He is young, and has not yet learned that pelting dwarves with apple-cores is an extremely dangerous activity."

Gimli gave a grunt that Legolas took to be suppressed laughter. Then, a few moments later, he said, "Nay, it is naught to do with that young rascal. I have read something disquieting, and I am unsure...." He broke off. Legolas was surprised. Gimli was usually eloquent – when he chose to speak, his thoughts were always expressive, Legolas had never yet heard the dwarf so uncertain. It must have been disquieting, indeed.

Legolas smiled, hoping to show the dwarf that he had in Legolas a friend's support. He reached over, and took the dwarf's calloused hand in his own, and squeezed it briefly, then let go.

"Will you tell me, my friend? What has caused you such concern? Perhaps a fresh perspective shall bring new light to your dilemma."

Legolas felt very aware of Gimli's coal-brick eyes gazing into him – assessing him. For a long time, the dwarf said nothing, then he passed the book in his lap over to Legolas, opening it to a place he had obviously marked.

"Read this" he said softly.

Legolas read:

"I crushed his lips against mine, and felt his hands ghosting over my skin. I wrapped my arms around him, pulling him closer, and down to my level. I ran my fingers through his hair, and felt the pointed tips of his ears. His hands took hold of my beard, tangling within it. I never thought I would love an elf, but he makes my blood sing..."

Flushing, Legolas looked up just as Gimli snatched the book away again, shifting back a few pages. "Wrong page. There," and Gimli, also with red cheeks, handed back the book.

Legolas looked down to the new page, dated several days earlier.

"Today, Celebrimbor and I finished the West Gate. It is a marvel, and we both believe that it will last until the Misty Mountains crumble. We dwarves have no immortal lifespan, but our works, and especially this work, will last forever. For all time, and for all future generations, our names shall be there, together, for all to see: 'The Doors of Durin, Lord of Moria. Say "Friend" and Enter. I, Narvi, made them. Celebrimbor of Hollin drew these signs.' Still, I cannot help but feel some regret that this work is complete – its completion means that Celebrimbor will have to return to Ost-in-Edhil. And I do not know when I shall see him again. I do not know when before a dwarf has ever come to rely so on an elf, as I have on him. I need him – he is my friend, and I am proud to stand by his side.

As we were walking back to the guest quarters, my elf chatted lightly about this and that, but my mind was perturbed. I needed to be on my own for a time, to think about these strange thoughts that were swirling through my mind..."

Narvi, after bidding farewell to Celebrimbor, promising to meet with him again that evening for a celebratory meal, hurried back to his own quarters and sat down on his bed. His head was spinning. The thought of parting from Celebrimbor pained him; his thoughts were plagued by that dratted elf, that bewitching, timeless creature that had so quickly become his friend. He felt once more the strange tingle in his hands, his shoulders; everywhere Celebrimbor had ever touched him. He heard the elf's voice in his ears, and could see, in his mind's eye, the elf glowing before him.

Surely this was not usual for those who were merely friends. Narvi had had many friends (no other elves, true enough), and none of them had affected him like this. Why should the thought of being parted from Celebrimbor upset him so?

After all, the elf couldn't be expected to live his whole life among the dwarves – he had a kingdom to run, work to do; he would be miserable under the mountains, even in such brightly lighted and beautiful ones as Khazad-dum. Celebrimbor would return home, Narvi could surely visit, it wasn't as if he would never see the elf; Celebrimbor would find some delicate elf lady to wed, and...

Narvi growled, furious even with his own thoughts. Any elf woman who tried to sink her claws into his elf would wind up with his pick-axe in her nervous system. The elf was his....

The elf was his heart-bonded.

Why hadn't he seen it before? The ease with which they had fallen into friendship, the way he had noticed all those little details, the safety and comfort he fell in Celebrimbor's presence.

Mahal, he who the elves called Aule, had created the dwarves to love but one in their lives – another dwarf who was created just for them, whose heart was waiting to find its mate. And now, after years of waiting and hoping to find the dwarf intended for him – he had found an elf instead!

Well, the time for waiting was over. He would speak to Celebrimbor on the issue that very night. After all, the elf, even if he did not return Narvi's feelings, was leaving in the morning. Better to have things like this out in the open.

That evening, when Celebrimbor arrived for their celebratory dinner, carrying a bottle of wine, Narvi was calm once more. Narvi smiled at the elf – his elf – and invited him in. It was a perfectly normal dinner between the two friends. Narvi was glad that his newfound feelings were not interfering with their friendship.

After dessert, they moved to two chairs by the fireside. The comfortable quiet, that comes when friends are warm and well fed, descended. They sat, sipping their wine, doing nothing but watching the firelight dance on the stone wall, and gleam on the brass fixtures. This, Narvi felt; this was the time.

He cleared his throat. Now that it came down to it, he was more than a little nervous. He didn't know how elves found their mates, after all. Did they even have heart-bonded? With dwarves, it was simple: their hearts called out to one another, each found the other desirable. Would the elf feel the same pull he did?

He cleared his throat a second time. He was aware of Celebrimbor's bright, sharp eyes watching him; waiting for Narvi to speak. Narvi briefly cast his eyes down, staring at the wine in his glass, gathering the legendary courage of the dwarves.

"Lad," he said, finally. "I have something I need to discuss with you." He looked up again.

Celebrimbor was smiling at him, the smile brightening his thin, rather pointed face. He raised his delicate eyebrows in mild amusement, and said, lightly, "Indeed, my friend? We have discussed all manner of things in our many conversations – I shall welcome another topic!"

Narvi paused, unsure of how to continue. A downside of only ever being interested in one person was a distinct lack of experience in initiating a romantic discussion. What should he say, or rather, how should he say it?

Well, he had to say something. Better to just say it; he could deal with the consequences later.

"What do you know of the hearts of the dwarves?"

Celebrimbor raised his eyebrows again. "Not much," he admitted in answer to Narvi's question. "I know that a dwarf loves but once in his life." He grinned, "Is there some charming dwarf-maid who has captured your heart?"

Narvi swallowed. This was it: the point of no return. "My heart has indeed been captured, but not by any dwarf-maid," he said slowly. "I found today that I wished to continue our partnership; and extend it to one of more than metal and stone. I wish for your heart to beat with mine, until the day that mine stops beating."

The silence descended on the room once more, but it was no longer companionable. It seemed thick with tension, and Narvi felt his stomach grow painful with nerves. He felt sick, and wished that he had kept his feelings a secret.

Finally, when the awkward silence had become nearly unbearable, and Narvi was just about to get up and invent some excuse to leave the room, Celebrimbor spoke. The playfulness had left his voice; it was soft, but intense with emotion.

"I recall the day we met, at King Durin's feast. I looked up, and thought my heart would stop – for the most beautiful dwarf I had ever seen had entered the room. And I was given the privilege of working with him; and I learned to love his mind, and his heart, and his soul – which I saw shining brightly through his work. But I knew that I would only ever have him as a friend and partner, for dwarves love but once, and somewhere a dwarf maiden waited for him, to reclaim his heart."

Narvi's heart, which had sunk to someplace within his boots, rose once more into his chest. Enough pussyfooting around the issue – elves may have time for words, but dwarves were creatures of action. He put down his glass, and, rising from his chair, he crossed over to where Celebrimbor was. The elf, seemingly unsure of what was happening, stood up too.

Standing before him, his eyes level with the elf's chest, Narvi muttered, "there is no dwarf-maid," and, reaching up, he wrapped his calloused fingers in the elf's hair and pulled the head down into a kiss...

Legolas looked up from the book again. He had come to the place that Gimli had originally indicated. The dwarf's eyes were keen upon him, still disturbed, waiting to hear Legolas' thoughts on the matter.

Legolas smiled, again, gently, and repeated his earlier question, "So, what has caused your concern, my friend?"

Gimli was staring at him, incredulous. "They were lovers!" He exclaimed, voice tense. "Narvi and Celebrimbor were lovers! Is that not a reason for concern?"

Legolas laughed, though he found Gimli's reaction to the issue disconcerting. "I do not see why it is a concern of ours. Narvi and Celebrimbor loved and lost nearly six thousand years past. Both are long dead, and their kingdoms destroyed. Surely you are not concerned about their love life? Or is it something else that disturbs you?" He looked earnestly at the dwarf, who was scowling once more. "Does it offend you that a dwarf could love an elf?"

Gimli seemed uncomfortable; he was fidgeting in his corner of the cot. He was unsure how to answer. "No!" he exclaimed. "I mean, yes! I mean, well..."

"Just last night, you were telling me of your love for the Lady Galadriel..."

"That's entirely different! She is a great lady; I would never insult her honour by desiring her physically! She is a married woman!"

"No, you would not – but it shows that it is not unheard of for a dwarf to consider an elf. If the Lady were not married, would you desire her?"

Legolas knew that he was treading into deeply personal areas. It would be unsurprising if the dwarf refused to speak to him. But he felt reckless. He needed to know why Gimli was so angered by the news of Narvi and Celebrimbor's love.

The dwarf, meanwhile, was retorting angrily. "Nay, she is not my heart-bonded. And no dwarf chooses the direction of his heart. If Narvi loved Celebrimbor, it was because he was destined to do so. There is nothing offensive in it..."

Legolas frowned. If there was nothing offensive in it, why had Gimli been so disturbed? "Then, why...?" he asked.

Gimli slumped dejectedly, his shoulders sloping, revealing his concern. He closed his eyes, and said, miserably, "Narvi's name is gone from the Mazurbul records."

"What?"

"The Mazurbul records list all the dwarves of the Khazad-dum." The dwarf reached under his bed, taking out the bloodstained record of the dwarves that Gandalf had given Gimli in the Hall of Records. He shifted to the beginning, the part that Gandalf had not read. Legolas looked over, and saw lists of names, with dates written to one side. Gimli shifted through the crackling pages, finally stopping at one where, according to the date, Narvi's name should have been, and, sure enough, the name was not there, but one name was blackened out so that it could not be read.

"Only those who have betrayed their people have their names removed from the lists. To remove a dwarf's name from the record is one of the most drastic punishments that can be inflicted upon a dwarf."

Legolas took Gimli's hand once more. He was relieved to find that it was not the idea of an elf and a dwarf together that had offended Gimli. The dwarf looked down, at their hands, interlaced, but said nothing.

"You are afraid," said Legolas softly, "that it was for loving Celebrimbor that Narvi was ostracized by his people?"

Gimli looked up once again. Legolas nearly gasped when their gazes connected, the intensity in the dwarf's dark eyes seemed to cut into his soul.

"Can it be anything else? I have read and reread the book; Narvi's diary, but there is no record of anything else he did that would have been seen as a betrayal of his people. He was the greatest Stone Wright of the age, and the pride of Khazad-dum. And now, with the West Gate gone, all record of his existence has vanished."

Legolas shook his head. "As you said, no dwarf chooses the direction of his heart. I do not see how loving one who was friend and neighbour to his people could be seen as a betrayal."

"But it could have been. We do not know."

"No, we do not" Legolas gave a small smile. "But I know who does."

"Who?"

"The Lady Galadriel – for wasn't it she who gave you Narvi's diary?"

Gimli's face brightened. Legolas felt his heart race at the sight. Gimli's eyes were now dancing with delighted joy, and he was smiling. He should smile more often, Legolas thought; his smile is enchanting.

"Yes," the dwarf's voice was nearly bubbling, "yes, we must see the Lady."


	8. Chapter 8

As the Leaves of Lorien Fall, (8?)

Rating: PG 13

Pairing(s): Legolas/Gimli (unrequited so far); Narvi/Celebrimbor; Galadriel/Celeborn

Warning: If you have read up to this chapter and haven't realized that this is a slash story, you may be blind, deaf and completely unaware of the world around you! Seriously, this story has slash and interspecies (see above), don't like, don't read. Is simple.

Disclaimer: As usual, Tolkien owns all these lovely beings, and their universe too! I just stole them…I mean, borrowed without asking, but with every intention of bringing them back…

A/N: Sorry about the long time between updates... I blame the fact that I had to write Galadriel, and she is very, very difficult to write convincingly. Honestly, I think the Galadriel POV part is crap, but I couldn't figure how to make it better, and anyway, its just a transition piece. shrug Any way, hope you enjoy this chapter...

As the Leaves of Lorien Fall, Chapter 8

"Yes" Gimli had said, his rich voice resonating like, like … well, Legolas couldn't really think of a suitable simile at the moment. It had so sounded happy, joyful, so full of …everything, that Legolas could almost forget the raptured words that followed, "yes, we must go and see the lady."

Legolas knew he was being silly. The Lady Galadriel was well over 6000 years old, was a grandmother, and married; and anyway, she wasn't Gimli's heart bonded. But Gimli, his dwarf, he thought grimly, had looked so overwhelmingly happy at even the briefest mention of her name. He was being unreasonable, he knew, to be jealous of Gimli's response to Galadriel; that Gimli still mostly tolerated his presence – he wanted Gimli's eyes to light up for him, for Gimli's voice to bubble for him alone.

Galadriel looked up from her weaving, as she became aware of the approaching guests. She smiled – sensing from the aura of worry around the two what it was they had come to discover. As she finished a row, she called out to her maidens, and told them to leave her for a time – she knew that this audience would require privacy.

She stood, and extended her arms in greeting as Legolas and Gimli entered the clearing. She smiled as she saw Gimli's eyes light up at the sight of her – she had missed being friends with Dwarves – they were so real, so intense; there was no artifice, just the three of them in this moment; but then, she noticed Legolas trying to repress a grimace, and not succeeding very well at all. It seemed this elf wasn't all that skilled at artifice either.

"My dear Gimli! And Legolas too! To what purpose do I owe the honour of this visit? Please, sit; take lunch with me, and we will talk." Gimli accepted with exuberant joy; Legolas followed in his acceptance – considerably more subdued. Galadriel smiled to herself, knowing that his reluctance was over the strength of Gimli's acceptance, and not through any unwillingness at spending time with her.

As they worked their way through the meal, Legolas relaxing considerably with the wine and the pleasant conversation; Gimli telling them a funny story about a duck, three fish, and a greedy merchant from Dale, with Legolas adding details, based on some of the experiences of Thranduil's agents in Dale and Esgaroth, who, it seemed, had been equally amused by the incident; Galadriel turned them, gently, back to the subject that she knew, despite the levity of the meal, was still playing heavily on their minds.

"Are you finding Narvi's diary an interesting read, Gimli my friend?" she asked, smiling.

At her words, she noticed that Gimli's face turned a very interesting shade of red – she hadn't seen quite that shade in millennia – and Legolas' eyes immediately flicked over to Gimli before looking quickly away.

Galadriel laughed, silently. It seemed her young friends had discovered, at last, the true nature of Narvi and Celebrimbor's relationship, and were still terribly uncomfortable about it... hopefully, she could repair that, today.

Meanwhile, Gimli had cleared his throat; and, deep voice somewhat huskier than usual, with embarrassment, replied:

"Indeed, milady. It is, in fact, on account of Narvi's diary that we have come to speak with you."

"Indeed." Galadriel was careful to keep her voice gently questioning. Males, regardless of species, tended to get a bit uncomfortable when they realized that she already knew everything. Inside, however, she was silently congratulating herself – the fish had caught her bait, it only remained to reel them in.

"Yes...it seems ... I mean, we noticed..." Gimli swallowed, his cheeks cherry red above his beard, his dark eyes firmly fixed on the ground. Galadriel was slightly surprised (something that hadn't happened, in ... ages); Gimli was normally so eloquent.

"We were concerned as to whether the reason Narvi's name was removed from the Mazarbul scrolls was connected to his ... relationship... with Celebrimbor." Legolas' blue eyes caught hers – directly honest; and demanding honesty in turn. Not that she had any wish to lie to them, on this subject at least...

She was silent for a moment, gathering the correct words together in her mind. She looked at them both, each in turn, and then glanced away, into the forest, admiring the way the sun played on the mallorns' silver bark.

The time had come to tell her friend's story... a story that had been lost, in all but her memory, for nearly 6000 years...

"Well," she said, finally, turning her gaze back to Legolas and Gimli. "I suppose their relationship was indirectly responsible - but only indirectly. The real blame lies, as always, with Sauron."

She smiled sadly at the look of shock and horror that filled her guests' eyes, and she could not help but be drawn back, to the last time she had sat in friendship, with Elf and Dwarf together, before jealousy and anger tore them all apart.

"It all started," she began, settling more comfortably in her seat, "when a Maia named Annatar arrived in Ost-in-Edhil, desiring to work with the greatest Elven-smith of all time, Celebrimbor of Eregion..."

Galadriel laughed merrily. The sun was shining – Celeborn had sent her word that construction was nearly complete for their new home, across the Mountains. Laurelindorinan, it was to be called, "The Valley of the Singing Gold". She could nearly see it already. But for now, she was in the lovely garden in Ost-in-Edhil, her friends around her.

Narvi was sitting across from her, on the bench, and Celebrimbor was on the ground, nestled in between Narvi's knees, head on Narvi's lap; and Narvi's calloused hands were running through Celebrimbor's hair, the silky threads flowing through coarse fingers.

Galadriel smiled at the sight of them, her heart warming at the unlikely pair. She thought of the early days of Celeborn's courtship of her, could almost feel his skin on hers once more, his delicate fingers tracing patterns on her jaw... just as Narvi's were doing now, to Celebrimbor... her heart gave a lurch, and she ached at the suddenly renewed realization that it would be months before she saw her husband again.

She considered clearing her throat, to remind her friends of her presence – they seemed to have forgotten: Narvi had leaned forward, and the two kissing deeply, slowly, with all the self-contained joy of a new couple. She doubted they were even aware of her existence, they were so wrapped up in each other, in their love, that she rose, to take her leave – and sure enough, they did not see her go.

As Galadriel re-entered the main hall, she noticed that quite a crowd had gathered around the entrance hall. She approached, and as she drew closer she realized that all were gathered around the figure of... well, quite simply, the most beautiful man she had ever seen. His dark eyes were enchanting, his smile dazzling, his skin flawless, his form possessed of grace and strength and symmetry.

"My Lady Galadriel" called out Nardil, an elf in her service, "may I introduce you to Annatar, one of the Maia, who has come here to work with Celebrimbor."

Galadriel couldn't help but smile. It seemed her kinsman's fame had spread. Annatar smiled at her in turn, and she felt her heart begin to beat a little faster ... Oh, when would Celeborn return!

" 'Giver of Gifts'?" She laughed, lightly, merrily, and extended her hand in greeting. "Welcome to Ost-in-Edhil, I am sure Celebrimbor will be delighted to work with one of the Maia. You gift us already, with your presence."

Galadriel looked around at her guests. Gimli was at the edge of his chair, dark eyes glittering with interest, smoldering with intensity. Legolas, too, looked interested in her story, but his expression held wariness not present in Gimli's; Galadriel suspected that he, at least, had guessed at the ending of this tale.

"Celebrimbor was indeed delighted to work with one of the Maia. Annatar was a gifted smith, and he taught Celebrimbor as much as he learned from him. They became friends fast, for Annatar possessed the ability to win hearts with little more than a smile, or a laugh, and Celebrimbor, who had often in his life felt alone, fell quickly into the chasm of Annatar's charm. But there was one over whose heart Annatar held no power, whose mind was not fooled by wit and glittering smiles – one for whom the coming of Annatar came as the herald of doom...Narvi warned us both, not to trust Annatar, but he did not live to see his prophecies come to pass."

Galadriel paused, with her hand on the door to Celebrimbor's room, when she heard the shouting within.

"By Aule's hammer, Narvi, you're being ridiculous!"

"Ridiculous, am I? It isn't me who is fawning at all hours over that, that, false jade! He's naught but fool's gold, and I'll be damned if I'll be fooled by him!"

"Watch your words, dwarf! Annatar is my friend, and a valiant one, and I'll not hear him slandered, even by my lover!"

"He's no friend! Behind those smiles is a cunning beast – can't you see it! I'm not certain yet, what he really wants... but it doesn't bode well, for you, or for any of us! I see the gleam in his eyes, when he looks at you!"

"Oh, now we come to the heart of the matter! You are jealous, because I have been spending time with Annatar that I used to spend with you? Oh, why didn't I listen to the warnings against the jealous hearts of dwarves! "

Furious growling.

"I am not jealous, you pointy-eared, frivolous... He means your downfall... but I will not be here to see you destroy yourself with him! Farewell! I will return when that creature is gone, and not a moment sooner!"

Galadriel found herself thrown back from the thrust of the door, as four and a half feet of furious dwarf stormed out of the room and down the hall, without a backward glance. She tiptoed into Celebrimbor's room, in time to see the very elf, throwing parchment (letters, perhaps, or plans for some future project) into the fire, with a look on his face that was more terrifying than all the hosts of Morgoth.

"Celebrimbor, what's wrong?" she asked, gently. Years spent with her friend had taught her that it was always better to get him to talk at once – he had a tendency to brood, if allowed to think too long.

He turned to her, grey eyes twin flames in his pale face; then the furious lines relaxed in a determined attempt at control, at forced gaiety as he said, calmly (but with a current of anger even two thousand years of control could not mask), "Nothing, my lady – is it time for supper? I feel in the need of some refreshment..."

"Celebrimbor." She spoke firmly, silencing his attempt at diversion with practiced ease. Taking his hand gently in hers, she led him over to the edge of the bed, and sat down next to him.

"Celebrimbor," she said, again; tone gentle, but with an edge of steel, demanding an honest answer, "cousin, what happened with Narvi?"

A look of pain flashed across her cousin's face: anger still, but mostly heartbreak; confusion mingled with sorrow.

"He is angry because I am spending so much time with Annatar. He is jealous. Celeborn warned me against the jealous hearts of dwarves, but here, there is no reason for Narvi to be jealous – Annatar is nothing more than a friend to me. I tried to get them to be friends – Annatar holds nothing but the greatest desire for friendship with Narvi – but Narvi just grew more silent and furious. He claims that Annatar is dangerous, that he cannot be trusted. I tried, cousin, I tried so hard to reconcile them." His eyes closed in pain.

"They are two of the most important relationships in my life," he continued, finally. "My lover and my best friend... but the more I tried to persuade Narvi of Annatar's worthiness, the more jealous he became... and now, he has left me." Celebrimbor swallowed, and when he started talking again, his voice was husky with barely suppressed pain. "He's gone, and he isn't coming back, I know it."

Galadriel held tightly on to Celebrimbor's hand, but it was an empty gesture, and she knew it.

"I shall talk to Narvi," she said at last. "Surely if someone else tells him that Annatar can be trusted, he will see how silly he has been, and will return."

"Perhaps," Celebrimbor gave her a slight, bitter little smile, and squeezed her hand in turn. "We both know of the stiff-necks of the dwarves. But I thank you for trying, and for your friendship."

Galadriel paused in her story telling, to refill her glass. Gimli was looking down at his boots, deep in concentration. Legolas was looking at Gimli, with an embarrassed flush on his cheeks – no doubt, remembering his own hasty comment about the stiff necks of dwarves, on the borders of Lothlorien.

Silence descended on the group, broken only by the soft murmur of the leaves high above them. She sipped her wine, carefully, savouring the sweet taste, and relishing the quiet, somber moment, before she would have to finish her story; pensive with the memory of friends long dead.

Finally, Gimli seemed to grow impatient with the silence; he looked up, dark eyes bright as they looked upon her. "Well, milady," he said, softly, "did you speak with Narvi?"

"I did," Galadriel responded, with a sad half-smile, "but I found it more difficult than I had expected."

­­­­­­­

When Galadriel finally left Celebrimbor's rooms, she headed immediately to the guest quarters where Narvi had been 'staying' – when he wasn't in Celebrimbor's rooms – only to find that the dwarf had already left.

The elves that manned the gates of the city informed her that Narvi had left, with all his gear, half an hour earlier.

A few days later, she was able to make the journey to Khazad-dum: only to be informed that Narvi had been banished. Sent in disgrace from Khazad-dum, and forbidden to return, his name erased from the records.

"Banished?" she echoed, hollowly. "But why?"

King Durin scowled back at her, face hard. "That is a matter for the dwarves, madam" he said, gruffly.

"Why?" she asked again, blue eyes pleading.

King Durin looked saddened. "Because he put the treaty at risk, lassie. He came storming back here, roaring that he would not rest till the traitor who had come to Hollin was driven out and shown for the false ore that he is." The dwarf lord sighed. "This treaty is too important to allow the jealousy of one dwarf to ruin it." He looked sidelong at Galadriel, and she noticed the deep sorrow that had taken residence in his grim face. "Narvi is one of my dearest friends, and Celebrimbor one of the finest lads I have ever had dealings with. It was I who introduced them. But our country has to come first. If Narvi manages to reconcile with Celebrimbor, and forgets all this foolishness... but he won't. I know my friend, lassie; he's as stubborn a dwarf as they come. He won't."

He won't

King Durin's words were still echoing in Galadriel's mind, as she stood, preparing to knock on the door to Narvi's new home. It had taken all of her persuasion to convince Narvi's family to tell her where he had gone. It had also taken her two days, and she had put several of her retinue at risk, for the Misty Mountains were no safe place, to find the house at all. This had better be worth her trouble.

A young dwarf she had never seen before opened the door. He glared at her, his beard bristling fiercely, and demanded to know who she was. He scowled all the more when she asked to speak to Narvi.

"He's not here..." the dwarf began, but then Narvi's voice called out from within, tired and resigned,

"Nain? Let her in, please. She's a friend."

The dwarf, Nain, let her in, still scowling, then shuffled off to another room. Narvi rose from the chair he had been sitting in, bowed, then took her cloak. Galadriel took her place in another seat by the fire.

"Pay Nain no mind, he has always been rather protective of me. Insisted on coming with me. I'm sure he meant no offense." Narvi returned to his place by the fire.

"None taken." Galadriel tried to keep her tone light, carefree.

But there was too much between them for it to ever be that.

"I suppose you're here to talk about Celebrimbor."

"Yes" Galadriel said simply, knowing that that one word was all that was needed.

Narvi looked down at the fire, briefly, before glancing up at her; then down at the fire once more. He remained silent, as if in thought.

"You love him."

This brought his eyes back to hers, suddenly.

"Of course I love him," Narvi said at once. Then more softly: " He is my heart-bonded, I will always love him."

"Then why don't you come back? He misses you deeply, you know. He hasn't been the same since you left – why it's been all Annatar and I could do to keep him..."

Wrong thing to say. Narvi's eyes blazed at the mention of Annatar, and he interrupted Galadriel, fiercely.

"Do not mention that ... snake... in my house!"

Galadriel recoiled in her chair, startled. She had seen Narvi angry, before, but nothing could have prepared her for this, the full intensity of it. It was like a storm in the Misty Mountains, when all the stone giants were out – a terrible and awesome force of nature. It left her breathless.

"Why?" She kept her tone mild, and gradually Narvi's fierce anger seemed to melt away, though he was still tense with unhappiness. She continued: "What is it about Annatar that displeases you? He is a good and fair man, a gifted smith; and a loyal and devoted friend to Celebrimbor. Why do you dislike him so, that you would give up everything in order to declaim him?"

"He is not to be trusted. The dwarves do not lie, and so, fair faces and handsome words do not easily deceive us. There is falseness in him, hollowness. If you chance your future on him you will be left with nothing but cheated hopes and empty words. He will cheat you of your dreams and future. There will come a time when many will regret that the words of Narvi the dwarf were dismissed as jealousy."

"If it is not jealousy, Narvi, then what is he planning? What proof do you have to your words? These are serious accusations..."

"They are, for it is a serious situation; one that I will not be there to see. When Celebrimbor learns the error of his ways, and expels Annatar from his life, then I will return, but not before. I will not watch the ruin of the elf I love."

Narvi rose, and went to his room, returning with a bound book. Walking over to Galadriel, he placed it in her hands.

"What is this?" she asked, looking up at him. The anger was entirely gone from his face, replaced by sorrowful regret.

"This is the last time we will meet, my lady. I thank you for your friendship, and your care, and I hope that your fate will not, too, be bound up with Annatar's villainy. But, in remembrance of our friendship, and of my love for your friend, I would ask that you keep this book in your keeping. You may yet find someone for whom the words of a dwarf long gone may have some meaning. Keep it in your care, and give it to him? I would not have the story of Narvi and Celebrimbor forgotten, even if it ends in tragedy. Farewell."

And with those words, Narvi kissed Galadriel's hands, and walked out of the room, and out of her life, forever.

Silence descended upon the forest glade once more. The three of them, elves and dwarf, caught up in the tragic end to the story. Finally, Galadriel spoke again, speaking quietly,

"I believe it has been said, by two noble beings of my acquaintance, that the waning of the friendship of the elves and dwarves was not the fault of the elves, nor was it the fault of the dwarves – and they were both wrong. The stiff necks of both – pride, arrogance and stubbornness – resulted in a tragedy where there should have been romance. And years of heartbreak were their only reward."

"Then were Narvi's words proved right?" Gimli was quiet; for they all knew the answer to his question even as the words left his mouth.

"He was." She looked at them both, drawing them in. "That you are both here is a testimony to his foresight. For Annatar was none other than Sauron, and with the craft he learned of Celebrimbor, and the elves of Eregion, he forged the nine, and the seven, and the One. We three are living in the days Narvi spoke of; the days when all would rue that the words of Narvi were ignored. For had we not all been so proud of our own knowledge, and dismissed his warnings as jealousy, Middle Earth might not now be caught up in this gathering darkness from which none of us may escape."

"And Narvi and Celebrimbor? Were they never re-united?" Legolas' voice was tense, as if he dreaded the answer, but felt it needed, that it had to be asked.

She shook her head, sadly. "No, for the lifespan of a dwarf is not as long as that of an elf. By the time Annatar's treachery was revealed; by the time Celebrimbor realized just how great an error he had made, when the Dark Lord put on the One and declared himself – Narvi's bones were decomposing in his grave, and his victory was a hollow one. When Celebrimbor was killed, in the war that followed, when Eregion and Khazad-dum were destroyed, I brought his body back to Narvi's house, and found the grave that Nain had dug, centuries past, and I had them buried together. Narvi had said that he would not be rejoined with Celebrimbor until Annatar's treachery was revealed, and, unfortunately, those words proved prophetic as well."

Galadriel looked away, saddened once more by the memory of her friends, of the happiness wasted, of the Shadow that had stolen everything, and threatened to do so again.

Legolas rose, and thanking her for her courtesy, took his leave, signaling to Gimli that he should follow. The dwarf rose, but, rather than follow Legolas out of the glade, he turned once more to Galadriel.

"My lady," he asked softly, "why did you give Narvi's book to me? What meaning did you hope for me to draw from Narvi's story?"

She smiled. Really, males were so charmingly oblivious at times. "I hoped that you would see beauty in strange places, and love where you never thought to look. Every end is a new beginning, my friend. Pride and stubbornness may have conquered Narvi and Celebrimbor – but perhaps, forewarned, here, elf and dwarf can put those aside and find a joy the world has never seen since."

She kneeled, and taking his hand in hers, said softly, "Look for love where you only saw hurt, Gimli Elf-friend, and you will find a diamond more precious than anything in the depths of the earth."

Rising once more, she kissed the top of his head, whispered "Good luck" and left the clearing behind her.


End file.
